Middle Aged Mulligan
by littlelights
Summary: Pete Tyler muses on his adjustment to living with a different Jackie and their instant family.


There was no reason in the world why he should be so happy

Disclaimer: I am not making any money from this writing exercise, blah blah blah. Please don't sue. As usual, reviews are welcome and encouraged.

Author Note: I watched Doomsday three times this weekend, and this fic idea just took root. So if it's slightly corny and strange, it's because I spent most of Sunday night typing away. It just seemed appropriate somehow. There's quite a bit of fic about the Doctor and Rose, and although I love it, I think there's something to be said about middle-aged second chances.

**Middle Aged Mulligan**

By littlelights

Peter Allen Tyler looked up from the BBC's world news feed to see a resigned-faced Mickey Smith walking alone into his media room. Neither man held any psychic abilities, but their concerns were the same. Their two biggest concerns were upstairs; an older woman comforting a younger one through a torrent of ceaseless tears.

These episodes with Rose didn't happen as often as used to, Pete mused. The first few months since crossing the void she'd been a wreck, really. Sobbing off and on for hours at a time, or sleepwalking through the mansion, her mind still locked into the parallel universe in which she'd been born. A London where she grew up in a single parent council flat. Where she hadn't had much of a lust for life until she met a man who traveled in a blue police box. And promptly fell in love with that manic, slightly pompous, sometimes rude man.

But he wasn't really a man, so what would that make him? A being? Mickey called him a Time Lord. Well, whatever he was, from this distance it didn't look like she'd ever recover from him. The Doctor had a way of slipping under the skin and taking over. Making himself indispensable in the process.

When nights like this happened, Pete would try to mind his own business and go back too sleep. But the bed was too big and Jackie wasn't there to monopolize the covers.

So he usually slipped off to watch the news to give himself a jumpstart on the day. So he was surprised when Mickey took a seat on the leather loveseat adjacent to his chair.

They could have been discussing Torchwood business at headquarters. Mickey tonelessly giving a report of the situation upstairs. Pete nodding his head occasionally, his questions phrased in short but even sentences.

Rose was having bad dreams, Mickey said. Dreams of traveling with the Doctor, which changed into flashbacks of working with the aliens of his Torchwood. The dream ended with her drifting in between the two universes, never able to live in either one and appearing too randomly for the Doctor to ever find her again.

Leaving her alone and torn apart from everyone she'd ever loved forever.

Pete wasn't a highly emotional person by practice, but even he felt a ripple of unease from Mickey's description. He'd make a call to the Torchwood projects department in the morning revoking Rose's access to their lab. She never went down there anyway, but for Jackie's state of mind, he'd stay one step ahead of whatever was going to happen.

Rose's dreams, the ones she remembered in the morning, had an unpleasing habit of coming true. It was hard for him to grasp. Time being channeled through the mind and body of a 21 year-old-girl. She'd been a wreck ever since they came home from Norway.

The creaking of the mansion's upstairs gallery let him know that Jackie was on her way back to bed. Pete thanked Mickey and handed him the telly remote.

"Don't stay up too late." He admonished.

"Just want to see who won the match." Mickey grinned slightly, flipping the channel over to the sports network. After the worst of times, it was good to know that a young man could be comforted by things like football.

Jackie was flittering around the master bedroom, picking up stray clothing with ever intension of placing them in the washroom hamper. She was upset, of course. But she was maintaining the motherly composure he was beginning to appreciate. She wouldn't cry, not until he was two feet from her. Then the clothes would never make it to the hamper. Not by Jackie Tyler's hands anyway.

She cried, he held her, and she soaked the front of his tee-shirt. He kissed her head, rocking her back and forth like the slow dances they'd shared with two different people years ago.

For years he'd been used to minimum physical contact from his first wife. Looking back at it, he'd loved her so much, and she'd loved him too. But he'd been busy working, building a company, stepping large with the heads of the business world. They'd grown apart, but he only really realized that after she died. The chemistry had still been there, but there had been a lot of anger and resentment too. They'd touched less and less as the years paraded past.

After his wife died, he'd been alone but not broken. The steely determination and decisiveness which had led him to great success financially had served him equally as well when he stepped up as head of Torchwood One. The long hours and constant work were not a sacrifice. They were a way of life.

But she ran back into his life again, so to speak. A Jackie in denim and too much eye make up. She ran, threw her whole body into his, wrapped herself around his heart, and never let go.

Ever since that moment, he couldn't stop touching her. He began taking up little gestures like placing his hand on her back when they walked into a room, or holding her hand as they sat together. It was more than habit, it was instinct. Each touch was reassurance that she was safe beside him. That she was solid and whole. That she wasn't a dream or a figment.

The buildup of those little touches eventually led to something else altogether. Two weeks after she'd crossed the void, she had practically ambushed him outside his room, telling him to 'make up his mind already'. Whatever argument Pete Tyler had expected was nothing like the bedroom row he'd had with this Jackie Tyler. He'd had her eight ways from Sunday that day and she'd been enthusiastic for more.

"This is us," Jackie had said, panting heavily, running her hand down the side of his face. Her eyes had been bright and her skin was flushed pink with blood and endorphins. "This is our time to be together, yeah? It's like a do over or something."

He'd been too dazed from the sex to really comprehend much. But somehow his mouth opened and the word slipped out. "A mulligan."

"A what?" She was slightly aghast.

Did she have to look so damn cute when she was confused? He pressed kisses to her sweaty brow. "A mulligan." He repeated. "It's from golf. You didn't like what happened to your ball the first time so you get a chance to take the shot again."

"Yeah, I like that. Like a middle aged mulligan." She laughed, teasing him for such a strange word. He remembered feeling the last reserve around his heart melting as she smiled that gorgeous smile of hers, then began filling his mouth with kisses and coddling him deeper inside her body.

Yes, this was their mulligan. Same shot, slightly different ball. He loved her, and he was going to make sure that she knew that every damn day for the rest of her life. And he'd never look at that particular aspect of golf the same way again.

With one hand holding her shoulders the other rubbing her back, Pete whispered soothingly into Jackie's ear. She didn't allow an inch of space between them. He could feel the soft contours of her body pressed to his own, and the hard swell of her belly where their baby was growing.

Their first few days of lovemaking had done more than bring them together physically. He felt like a husband again. Now he was a father, or going to be a father. Even if the nearly grown woman sleeping down the hall was more of a comrade and equal than a child. Loving this Jackie Tyler meant accepting Rose Tyler with his public acknowledgement and personal protection. They had been a package deal, so to speak. And Jackie had made it clear that he couldn't love her and drop Rose off on the side of a curb. He hadn't intend to love Rose as his own, but it had slowly happened anyway.

He steered Jackie to their bed, settling her down into the blankets. Her back had been giving her pains recently, and the doctor's remedy had been periodic bed rest. He turned out the lights, stretched out beside her and enfolded her against his body.

"She seems so lost again, Pete." Jackie sniffled, rubbing her face into his neck for comfort. "These dreams-these nightmares of hers. They're coming true. It's like she doesn't belong here." After a slight hiccup and a breath she continued. Her highly emotional state seemed to drain the fight out of her body. "I hate myself."

Her statement jolted him. "What? Why would you say such a thing?"

She continued as if she'd barely heard him. "I hate myself be-be-because I don't want her here!"

Part of him completely reeled. It pushed everything out of his mind as it went completely blank. Had it really gotten this bad?

Jackie continued. "At first I thought it was a blessing. A wonderful blessing. That we suddenly had this new life. A place here with you. That all of us could be a family. And that she'd be happy. I thought she'd get over him and just be happy here with us. But it's not happening. She's in love with him and she's hurting. She's grieving more than I thought she ever could."

This was one of those moments when he played it smart and kept his mouth shut. He knew from meeting Rose in the past and how the Doctor played his cards close to his chest that there wouldn't be a peaceful parting for those two.

She sniffled, recovering her wits and breathing deeply for a minute. In the dark it was easy to confess the things you'd rather not say in broad daylight. "I'd rather live my life knowing she was over there, happy and bouncing around in that daft police box with him, than crying her eyes out in this world with me. She's so alone here, Pete. Even with you and me and Mickey around here. She'll stand on her own because that's what she does.

But, the Doctor – he's not here. And if something crazy happens and she can't pull herself out of it, that's it. It's over. I used to tell him to protect her, but now I'm thinking that they were alright as long as they looked after each other. And I can't help feeling something's going to come along and snatch her away. Taking her somewhere with no one able to help..."

"She's got you and me," He responded fiercely. "And Mickey and Jake, and all the Torchwood staff. I know that all of us together doesn't equal one Doctor, but it counts for something. If anything happens to her…"

"I know," She soothed, leaving him to wonder how their roles were suddenly reversed. "No one could ask for more. But I can't see the future. Somehow she can. And if she's not seeing the Doctor, then I don't want these dreams of hers to come true."

"Maybe they will, maybe they won't. She is seeing things before they happen, Jacks. But it's only happening for certain events. Mickey told me about this concept – 'Bad Wolf'. I don't think she's helpless. There's something else watching over her, and I think it has something to do with the Doctor." He dried her tears with his thumbs, watching the way her eyes lost their sadness. "We're going to do the best we can for her and then some."

She snuggled into him again, whispered her gratitude, and relaxed as he kissed her several times. If it had been amore lighthearted moment, he would have tried cracking off a light tease but there wasn't room for that sort of thing. It was three in the morning, and he had to leave her in a few hours. By seven-thirty Rose and Mickey would kiss her goodbye at the breakfast table before heading off to Torchwood. After checking in with his financial interests, he would join them at headquarters in the afternoon. It was another two days before the weekend granted the two of them a short break to lounge in bed a bit.

He really should marry her, he thought, a proper ceremony and everything. Maybe a private ceremony, like a renewal of vows or something, and then throw a big party here at the mansion or maybe at the Mandarin Oriental in town. They needed to announce the future arrival of their baby, after all.

They'd exchanged rings already, here in this room. Both their hands had been vacant of the tokens from their first nuptials. The ring from his first marriage was in a bank vault and hers was a world away, tucked inside the jewelry box in her council flat.

He'd bought her a ring on a whim, telling himself it was just for show until the morning after they first made love. She had sat on the end of the bed in his robe, while he kneeled in front of her, slipping the largest diamond ring she'd probably ever seen in her life onto her hand.

"But people think we're already married, Pete." She was half crying-half ogling the diamond on her finger.

"I need you to know that you're my wife in all the ways that matter. I want you here with me. Always." It hadn't been an elegant declaration, and the practical side of him rebelled a bit, but he couldn't remember feeling so happy in years. She'd really cried then, snogged him silly, and convinced him to fall back into bed on a workday.

They both needed to smile more outside their bedroom. Something showy might just be the thing they all needed. One of the miraculous things about being human was experiencing how an event brought people together. A marriage ceremony was just a symbol, after all, a ritual. But maybe it was what they needed; to be together as a proper family and maybe enjoy themselves in the process.

The soft snore at his shoulder let him know that his wife was asleep. She was worn out, and so was he. He wasn't a religious or particularly optimistic man, but as he slipped off sleep he hoped that the morning would be better than the two preceding hours. And that everyday here after, Rose would eventually come to know the kind of peace and joy he'd come to cherish since she and Jackie had mistakenly stumbled into his life.

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